


Hamilton One-Shots

by lafayettelovingwriter



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: F/F, F/M, I hate myself, M/M, Multi, Other, Shipping, aiming for 250 one-shots maybe??, don't mind me, help me, hi i'm experienced at writing but new to this site, i am a crappy writer, i can't write lol, i can't write straight ships, one-shots boi!!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-07-27 10:51:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16217522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafayettelovingwriter/pseuds/lafayettelovingwriter
Summary: i'm a shitty writeryou have been warned





	1. Requests {OPEN}

So we're doing this? Okayyy then --

Hi! I'm lafayettelovingwriter, call me Laf because I want to be known by the nickname of my precious baby -- sORRY --

Anyways, this is my first story on here! But it's most certainly _not_ my first story ever. Obviously.

Moving on, you have found the requests chapter of my story! PLEASE, I am BEGGING you, don't make requests on any other chapter.

All you have to do is just tell me a ship, and I'll write about it! Unless I'm uncomfortable with it. You understand that, right? . . . _Right_?

. . . Dear god, don't hate me --

Regardless, you can also add a thing or two, like what you want the one-shot to be called, or a prompt, or whatever the hell you want.

However, add these bits and pieces WHILE CONSIDERING the following:

I don't write smut. No lemon, no NSFW, NONE OF THAT whatsoever. I would be dead if my parents found that stuff in my Google Docs.

I do, on the other hand, gladly write abusive relationships, suicidal stuff (attempts, thoughts, or otherwise), general angst, and all that sort of stuff.

I am _really_ bad at writing straight ships. I'm not saying I _can't_ write them, I'm just too buried too deep in gay shit to really be able to write straight shit without extreme awkwardness.

I have a tendency to write really, really, REALLY cheesy crap. I'm sorry, that's just how it is for me, I guess?? I think I fangirl so excessively over my ships that I kinda just . . . lose it.

Yeah.

Also, I don't just write by request! I'll probably post a lot of one-shots that I've written on a whim and, well, yeah.

Later, my friends! Please don't kill me and / or hate me because first impressions and all that crap . . . I'm really trying, I swear.


	2. Trick-or-Treat! {Philidosia}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip thinks he's too old for trick-or-treating. Theodosia tries to convince him otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by [Rose_Blue99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_Blue99/pseuds/Rose_Blue99)
> 
> does this?? count as cute?? did i do it wrong?? AHHHHH

“Come on, Philip!” ten-year-old Theodosia whined. “Tell me what you’re gonna dress up as for Halloween! It’s not fair that you get to know what I’m gonna be but you won’t tell me what _you’re_ being!” She gave the freckled boy a pleading look.

Philip was silent for a moment. “I’m not going, Theo,” he said finally.

Theodosia looked at him with horror. “ _What_?” she cried.

“I’m not going trick-or-treating,” Philip repeated simply. “I’m too old for it.”

“Philip, you’re _eleven_!” his friend exclaimed. “That is not the age you just _quit_ trick-or-treating! Seriously, who hammered that idea through your skull?”

“. . . Myself?” Philip replied awkwardly.

Theodosia sighed. “Pip, I don’t get you,” the girl said pointedly. “You think you’re too old for everything! THIS CROSSES THE LINE!” She practically hollered the last part, causing Philip to wince. “We’re going trick-or-treating next Wednesday, whether you like it or not. _And_ I’m getting my dad to buy you a costume! You have _no_ say in this now!”

Philip was speechless. “But —”

“NO BUTS!” Theodosia howled. “Les’ go!” She grabbed Philip by the arm and practically dragged him down the stairs. “DAD —”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I laughed?? So hard?? Writing this?? Just . . . wow. Just wow.


	3. Storm {Jamilton}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander was going to have a wonderful day. He had it all planned out, everything set to perfection.
> 
> Alexander, however, did not plan for a storm to ruin it.
> 
> Or his worst enemy being there to fix it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna do another request, but, unfortunately, I can't access my other devices, so I'm stuck with my Kindle. Speaking of which, if there are random spaces, typos, or the like, blame the hell out of my Kindle for doing shit.
> 
> Moving on!
> 
> This is a little cliché, a little overused, but I feel like there's always gotta be a storm chapter in a Hamilton fic, y'know? It's just a regular thing.
> 
> NOW! TO THE ONE-SHOT!

Alexander was going to have a perfect, wonderful day, he knew it.

Well, that is, he _thought_ he knew it -- until it started pouring outside, seemingly from nowhere.

Thunder rumbled outside, and he jumped, already feeling panic rise in his chest. _NONONONONO **SHIT**!_

He hurried through the high school, disregarding the mixed looks of concern, annoyance, and surprise as he pushed past numerous other students, heading for the nearest bathroom.

Alexander, however, skidded to a halt when someone grabbed him by the arm.

"Stop right there, Hamilton," a voice hissed in that Southern drawl that Alexander had learned to hate over the years.

Glancing back at Jefferson, he opened his mouth to say something, but the few words that came out formed a blood-curdling scream when thunder clapped louder than ever before that day. Thomas immediately released Alexander to cover his ears, muttering a "Jesus fucking Christ!" under his breath as the latter darted off again.

The bathroom door slammed shut behind Alexander, and he made a beeline for the closest stall. He didn't make it, however, as he dropped to the ground and curled into a ball as thunder rumbled somewhere outside.

He couldn't stop the flood of memories that were overcoming him; the hurricane, the destruction it left behind, _all the people who had died before his eyes_ . . . It was all coming back, just when he didn't want it to.

He didn't hear the bathroom door open.

He didn't hear the soft whisper of "Alexander?"

But he did feel when a pair of arms wrapped around him.

He did hear the murmurs of "it's okay, you're gonna be okay" in his ear.

And it helped.

The onslaught of memories were fading, and Alexander could suddenly breathe again.

However, it was then that he recognized the voice, realized that it was _Thomas fucking Jefferson_ holding him close.

Turning in the other's grip just proved it. Thomas's eyes practically bored into his, as if daring him to say something.

And he did.

"What the actual fuck, Jefferson?" Alexander blurted. "Don't you fucking hate me? What the hell are you doing?"

Thomas paused for a moment, before retorting with, "Maybe I want to actually _help_ you because people like me do actually have hearts? You think I wasn't _worried_ when you screamed like I had fucking stabbed you? I don't make fun of people's mental states, Hamilton! Maybe I'm something of a bully, but I'm not a fucking psycho who laughs at anxiety! I --"

Alexander stopped him where he was. "Jesus, Jefferson, I didn't ask for a fucking speech," he growled. "What, are you on the verge of confessing your undying love for me? Because I'd have to think so, the way you were talking." He was surprised when Jefferson went red in the face.

"I -- fuck, you might actually be right," the aforementioned mumbled.

Alexander's eyes went wide. He was quiet for a deathly long minute. ". . . How long?" he questioned softly.

"The moment I laid eyes on you," Thomas sighed. "God, you were the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, and the way you talked and how you phrased your every word was so fucking _irresistible_ , albeit annoying at the same time. But you hated my opinions and I could _swear_ you hated me, so I just . . . I tried to drown out my affections with more hate in return. _God_ , Alexander, it hurt so much -- and now you probably hate me even more now, so, great, my life is just a fucking disaster." He looked as though he wanted to say more, but hadn't the words for it.

For a moment, Alexander said nothing.

Then, "Did you ever think that I might feel the same way?"

"Wh-what?" Thomas couldn't help but stammer out the word.

"You acted like a stuck-up ass most the time, Thomas," Alexander sighed. "But, god, you were hot and beautiful and I just couldn't help but love how passionate you were about your opinions. You spoke whatever the hell was on your mind, and I -- well, I _liked_ that! Hell, I loved it. But, again, you were always on your high horse -- I doubted you liked me in any way. Now, though . . ." He trailed off.

Thomas spoke for him.

"What if we try something new?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> laf writes people waaay ooc
> 
> admit it
> 
> BUT JESUS I'M SO PROUD OF THIS


	4. Notes {Lams}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds a love letter in his locker. Laf can't write summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh I WROTE THIS BY HAND
> 
> also?? i'm tryna get to requests but i keep getting sidetracked, i'm so sorry ;-;

When John found the note in his locker, he initially thought it was a joke. But, after several minutes of reading it over, he felt he was mistaken.

As he walked to class, he replayed the words in his mind, over and over, considering every detail and attempting to determine who the hell had written the note (it was practically an essay, he couldn't help but think) in the first place.

It occupied his mind the entire period, and thank god he wasn't called on even once. Which was odd, considering that Laf always writes cliché stuff, and it's cliché of a teacher to call on a student who isn't paying attention.

Oops, broke the Fourth Wall ever so slightly, haha.

Anyways, it was when he was walking to his next class that John finally started mentally listing off possible candidates for whoever had written the apparent love letter.

However, he found near nothing. Hercules's writing was hardly all that eloquent, Jefferson hated everyone and everything except James Madison, and Lafayette, the only one who could possibly form such words, was out of town. The whole school seemed to know he was gay, so none of the girls could possibly check out, plus most of his other male friends and acquaintances were already with someone.

A memory nagged at the back of Laurens's mind.

A short, black-haired teen boy whom he had the bad luck of crashing into last week when he was late for class.

A mumbled "you're cute" then a quick "I'm sorry, bye!" before he had run off.

But, no. The kid didn't know where his locker was . . . right? Or had he seen John each time he had gone to his locker, and made assumptions from there?

He really couldn't be certain; but he knew for sure that he couldn't jump to conclusions.

\-----

The next day, John discovered yet another note in his locker. He frowned as his eyes scanned the paper, absorbing every word with careful consideration.

It was much shorter than the other one, only a paragraph or so.

The note read as followed:

 _John,_  
_I only learned your name just today. It's simple -- I like it. I think it's very **you** , in every curl and every freckle. I don't think I ever got to describe your smile in my last note; it simply lights up the day moreso than any star, and I'm sure it's truly a blessing to those you shine it upon. I hope that, one day, it graces your face just at the sight of me._  
_But a boy can only dream._

The frown melted away almost immediately, replaced by a small but vibrant smile. Whoever had written this letter and the one before was clearly very serious about being in love with John.

He paused for a moment, feeling eyes practically burning into the back of his skull. He turned, and, just as he suspected, the boy was standing there with an air of pride and confidence.

When he realized John had seen him, he didn't flee; he just . . . smiled.

John found himself walking over, his miniscule smile broadening until it was a grin. Stopping before the shorter, he titlted his head and said, "So I'm assuming you're my 'secret admirer,' yeah?"

The other teen shrugged. "You could say that," he said rather smoothly. He then looked up, locking his gaze with John's. "Alexander Hamilton."

"John Laurens, in the place to be," John replied. "But I think you already know that."

"Yep," Alexander confirmed, just as the bell rang. He glanced around, then stated -- not asked, _stated_ , "Meet me here after school."

Before John could respond, he walked off. "Okay, then," the former muttered as he headed to class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tell me if you want a part two uwu


	5. Meeting {Lams}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you didn't actually say that you wanted a part two but of course i wrote it anyway

John ended up thinking about Alexander all day, classes flying by in what felt like seconds. Before he knew it, the end of the day was only moments away.

His eyes trained on the clock, John silently counted down the seconds. _Six, five, four, three, two, one . . ._

_RIIINNNGGG!_

The instant the teacher confirmed dismissal, John was off like a shot. He hurried off to his locker, putting the majority of his things away and grabbing his bag. Closing his locker, he scanned the crowded hall, hoping to see Alexander.

However, he didn't see him until he was standing right in from of him.

John immediately jumped, surprised by his sudden appearance. "Jesus!" he yelped, and a smirk crossed Alexander's face. "You scared me . . ."

"Intended," Alexander replied simply.

John rolled his eyes. "Are you _trying_ to make me hate you?" he queried with a sigh. "You seem like an irritating person."

"Just about everyone tells me that," Alexander said, shrugging. He paused for a moment, then added, "But I really hope I can convince you otherwise." As the hall cleared out, he looked around, then returned his gaze to John. "You think you can come to my house? I'm sure my dad wouldn't mind."

"Oh," John said, blinking, "sure?"

He was taken aback when Alexander grabbed him by the arm and started towards the exit. "Then let's go!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a part three is inevitable isn't it


	6. Anger and Anxiety {Madilton}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex rants about how his friends always take advantage of his height to James. James somehow manages to drag the subject of his anxiety and the project they have to get done for school into the whole thing despite how unrelated it is.
> 
> (LAF CANNOT SUMMARIZE)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't procure a better title than “Anger and Anxiety” shdghvh,,,
> 
> also requested by KingofTwoCrowns, i'm too lazy to link their profile bc it's 3 in the fucking morning as of the time i started writing this
> 
> ~~also yes i swear i'm getting to everything else including part three of the Lams thing but i really wanted to write this before i lost inspiration~~

Alex and James had been walking through the city for some time, and the former was currently going on a long rant about how almost everyone he knew always took advantage of his lacking height. James tried his best to listen, occasionally mumbling a “yeah” or nodding his head; but his mind was currently on their project for school — the one that they had to work on with John Jay. Twenty-five essays; they were split between the three, with Alex doing one extra due to twenty-five being an uneven number — because why would Alexander Hamilton pass up the chance to do extra work?

“I mean,” Alex almost shouted, snapping James out of his thoughts; his heart fluttered in his chest out of alarm, “the other day Herc _literally_ laid his arm on top of my head like I was a fucking armrest! _Just_ because I'm so much shorter than him and he just _happened_ to be sitting right next to me! Like, what the fuck is wrong with you? I'm a human being, you asshole! Not part of a piece of furniture! Fuck you! _Fuck_. _You_!”

James suddenly stopped in his tracks; he couldn't hold things in any longer. He grabbed Alex's sleeve and tugged on it; the brunet had been so absorbed in his rant that he hadn't seen James stop. Alex glanced back, silencing himself as confusion flashed in his gaze.

“How many have you written so far?” James asked quietly. “How many essays for the project, I mean.”

Alex smiled sheepishly. “. . . Forty-nine,” he admitted. “I plan on doing at least two more, though.”

James's eyes widened — his grip on the fabric of Alex's sleeve tightened. “ _What_?” he choked out; already he could feel his chest constricting as panic began to suffocate him. “I o-only did ten — I wanted to do more, too, and we have two months left . . . oh, god, I'll never compare to you —”

“James, are you okay?” Alex frowned. “You look like you can't even breathe — wait, are you having a panic attack?” He turned fully, and James collapsed against him. He blinked, surprised.

“Yes,” James mumbled softly as he buried his face in Alex's chest. “I-I'm sorry . . .”

“James, there's nothing to be sorry about,” Alex informed him, brow furrowing. “Are you o — no, that's a stupid question, because you're obviously not. Um . . . just breathe, okay? Do you need a hug, because I WILL give you a hug —”

“That would be nice,” James said, voice still hushed; Alex almost immediately wrapped him in a gentle embrace.

“You're fine,” Alex said softly. “You're fine. No way would I expect you to get as much work done as I have. You aren't me, after all. I wouldn't expect you to be.”

And for once, James did, in fact, feel fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wanted to add a lil bonus that i won't explain to you but i was lazy smh


End file.
